Bed

Sleeping in a bed is decidedly far better than not. There are many other places that not could be referring to, but in this case I am referring to the cement at Harbour Green Park in Coal Harbour Vancouver. The why, is a rather convoluted tale of revelry and bittersweet goodbye’s. The who is of course Salvatore P. The when is last Thursday night? And the how is by foot and possibly other methods of transporting oneself but really I’m just as in the dark about this one as you are.

When I finally did track down Sal – which of course is not his real name but that is another reason to write this blog – I was overcome with mirth as I had been the entire walk down Jervis and Pendrell to Delaney’s on Denman and I laughed out loud. What else was there to do? Looking like a fashionable homeless person with a bonsai garden attached rudimentarily to his back with a piece of ABC chewing gum, I simply let my head roll back under the weight of the previous nights nourishment – if you can call it that – and let out a deep belly laugh that said I am truly at peace with the world and quite exasperated as I sought for the mental key to unlock this latest of self inflicted Sudoku puzzles. Alas the answer has yet to be found, as have a few personal affects. But after a quick B&E with the help of the local painters, a rescue mission to Buster’s impound lot, a shot of gastrolyte, and a Daniel and a few high fives, everything seemed ready to return to normal. Perhaps everything had remained normal and I had been in a bizarre time warp dimension with Sal for the past 12 hours. Judging from the appearance of my derelict white v-neck the next day post wash – decidedly not.

RVYC

I am tempted to start my book here. There is no specific reason why, rather there have been a number of events in my life of late that have caused me to want to write…HARD. These events have been unconnected except for the single uniting factor, which is that they happened to me. Let me begin.

Last Wednesday I undertook that I sincerely hope will become a regular occurrence for me. After finishing work early I showered and donned the maroon polo shirt that I had purchased for this exact occasion.  I was determined to go sailing and learn the ropes (literally) before the world wide Daniel tour began in September. Wednesday s at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club, there are races and I had prepared myself in two ways: one was the afore mentioned polo shirt that Brett would have made sure I knew how poor of a purchase he thought it was had it not been for this exact purpose; and two was the acquisition of a six pack the night before which I had on ice. A more experienced sailor, of which there are many since I had none, told me that it takes one of three things to get on a sail boat: experience, boobs, or beer. Going O for 2 I had no choice but to stock up on the elixir of life.
                Walking down the wharf at the Royal Van I was experiencing an array of emotions that I had not felt in years. It was the uncomfortable feeling of being truly nervous. I think the last time I felt like that was my first kiss or maybe even sooner. Never before can I recall the dread of not being picked. I did have what seemed to be the essentials for sailing. A fit body, a pulse, common sense above average if I may be so bold, and a case of beer, yet there was this deep upwelling of nervous emotion that forced me to fight to keep composure.
                Just as I was about to dash for a boat and stow myself on board I heard a whistle that caught my attention. It was not the kind of cat call I am used to getting from 40-something single mom’s when I wear my Turkish made Speedo on the beach. This was the “your attention is needed” kind of whistle. As I scanned for the source my eyes came across the most welcome sight I have ever seen – a friendly gesture that I was needed to help crew the boat. The walk down seemed like one of the longest of my life as the crew doubtlessly eyed me up possibly reconsidering why they had chosen a jack-knob wearing a maroon polo to help them glide to victory. However, once I arrived on the scene the crew turned out to be helpful, friendly, and quite knowledgeable about sailing. That first race I was rail bait and hoisted the spinnaker with all my gusto when the time came at each leg. My sailing knowledge increased moderately, but I received a passing grade in the form of a return invite and overcame the first major obstacle in completing a significant leg of the journey by boat – myself.

What more Can I say?

There are some things that I would love the general public to know about me, but of course they are not nor ever will be steady readers of my blog, the truth is that I am writing for myself and family. Then sometimes I think why don’t I just tell them and save everyone the agony of reading fine print on an off coloured background? The reason of course is that on some level, even though I don’t actually want this, I am seeking immortality, or maybe better put: the ability to have my memories made incorruptable and everclear (a new word not the band). This is the (see also: my) main reason for writing a blog, that and the simple satisfaction that we humans get out of writing. If you have ever written something other than a school paper that you were being forced into you would realize that writing is an incredible outlet for the intellect of what we can often and sometimes regularly, not express in words for some reason or another. And with that brief interlude, I will very shortly relate some of my most recent adventures.

 

-JN

4 day weekends

There is nothing better than taking a four day weekend when the rest of civilization - or at least the part that is employed 9 to 5 - is not. I’m on day two. I sincerely believe that Vancouver is the most incredible place to live in the world that I have seen so far. I don’t care about other cities having better night life or shopping, I’m talking about living not consuming. Vancouver has unparalleled natural beauty and I cannot get over the air quality. Ottawa was nice and crisp but here it is so fresh. There is something  magical about springtime, flowering trees and the sun casting slightly elongated rays on the earth as it climbs ever Northward seeking its annual zenith. I’m not entirely sure if I used that word properly.

There is so much to write about. I fell like I’m in a different hemisphere in Vancouver, its called the Pacific Northwest, and we are not like our compatriots in the East, that much is certain, but I’m sure it has to do more with the warm Pacific currents than the geographical distance between us and Ontario, much less Quebec. Anyway, it matters not. I’m home. That feels good to say (in my head), and the planning can begin for what will become the greatest adventure of my life. Of course life is an adventure but this is going to be a unique experience that will undoubtedly leave me very changed.  

This four day weekend is for planning, finishing, starting, painting, brewing coffee, and eating Daniels. The Daniel count is at 1. The coffee count is at 5. CIP count is 3. Its windy and there are white caps in English Bay, they are so beautiful and feral because they are foreign in our calm inlet. I’m going to go finish my undergrad on the beach, it is only fitting for the paper that will be done by the time I return.

Welcome to the next chapter: a summer in vancity.

-JN